


yours, mine, ours

by canvases (oilpaints)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 16:33:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11017248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oilpaints/pseuds/canvases
Summary: Oikawa grins, flashing rows of pearly teeth. He sinks into the hoodie—Iwaizumi’shoodie—and then springs into action. “Let’s go, Iwa-chan,” he says. “Blue skies are calling!”





	yours, mine, ours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sleepyneptune](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepyneptune/gifts).



> to neptune: happy birthday! i might be little early or a little late depending on when i post this, but please accept this humble little gift. i know you love your fluffy iwaois, and i did my best. it was my first time writing them and i can only hope i didn’t mess things up too badly. anyway, hope you’re having a great day. lots of love! (♡˙︶˙♡)
> 
> [sunsoaked by adib sin](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=d2ffRUO7WSY)

 

_My lover asks me:_

_“What is the difference between me and the sky?”_

_The difference, my love, i_ _s that when you laugh, I_ _forget about the sky_

\- Nizar Qabbani

 

Oikawa emerges from the bathroom with a dripping towel slung over one shoulder, smelling of lavender soap, and wearing one of Iwaizumi’s hoodies.

“Iwa-chan,” he all but _sings,_ stepping out of the door with a step and twirl. His towel trails water as he goes, and Iwaizumi thinks to scold him, but he’s already talking up a storm before he can so much as open his mouth. “Your lack of bath products is an offense, thank your lucky stars that I brought my own shampoo, or else—”

“Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi says slowly, “why the hell are you wearing my sweatshirt?”

Oikawa stops mid-ramble to look down at his clothes. The hoodie is gray and fits too loosely around his shoulders, the hem cropping up too close to his stomach. Oikawa tugs at one of the strings. He looks up and flashes him a peace sign. “I didn’t think you’d mind, _Iwa-chan!_ ” he says. “I forgot to bring in one of my own shirts, and all your clothes are comfy. Not stylish at all, though—ow!”

He pouts at Iwaizumi, tossing back the pillow he’d thrown at his face. Iwaizumi just snorts and catches it, setting it back on the couch his mother had insisted on him placing in his already cramped apartment. The sunlight bathes everything in a faint amber light, the dust motes dancing with time. “Keep it on, if you want,” he says, making his way to the curtains. “You’re gonna be the one washing it, though.”

“That’s no way to treat a guest!”

He snorts again, pulling the curtains open. Humid air comes spilling in through the gaps—again, shitty apartment—and he decides to just let the rest in by opening the windows. “You’re more of a pest than a guest,” he says.

“I am _never_ visiting again,” Oikawa says, ever dramatic as he collapses onto the couch. “And here I thought you’d miss me, Iwa-chan,” he says, still teasing, but there’s something softer hidden layers underneath. Iwaizumi turns around to see his mop of chocolate hair sticking up from a mound of cloud-patterned pillows. The sunlight kisses each curl just so. Iwaizumi chucks a hairbrush at him. Oikawa squawks. _That’s for doubting us,_ he thinks vehemently.

“’Course I did, Trashkawa,” he says, turning around again. He distracts himself by brushing dust off the leaves of his houseplants, already dreading the end of his best friend’s visit. Time flies all too fast, these days.

Oikawa pokes his head out from under the pillows, eyes wide. “I knew you loved me, Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi turns around to roll his eyes at him, then back again to hide his smile. “Well,” he says. “It’s hard not to miss such a chatterbox. Everything’s too calm without you around. I’m not used to it.”

“Hey!”

Iwaizumi softens. “I have milk bread in the cupboard,” he says, and Oikawa’s petal-pale lips flutter into a smile. “Bought some for you.”

 

/

 

“So, Iwa-chan,” he says around a mouthful of milk bread. “Show me around Sendai!”

He sighs. “Oikawa, you just got here.”

“Yes, but!” he tears off another piece of bread, waving it around in the air before popping it into his mouth. “There are so many places to go, and we only have one day! I want to see it all with you. Better start early, right?”

Iwaizumi sighs again, and it feels a lot like giving in.

Oikawa grins, flashing rows of pearly teeth. He sinks into the hoodie— _Iwaizumi’s_ hoodie—and then springs into action. “Let’s go, Iwa-chan,” he says. “Blue skies are calling!”

 

/

 

“The metro here is much less cramped than it is in Tokyo,” Oikawa says, stuffing his hands into the pocket of his sweatshirt. “How refreshing.”

Iwaizumi glances around from where they’re standing on the train, so unlike their hometown, where they could usually snag a seat if they rushed. “Refreshing,” he says, smushed between bodies. “Right.”

Oikawa throws his head back and laughs. Iwaizumi tries not to stare at the way the sunlight lines his throat and sets the tips of his eyelashes aglow, but behind him, the sky glows and even brighter blue as the downy clouds scatter into feathery wisps of old memories. Everything feels, suddenly, like slow motion, and Iwaizumi feels like believing in fairytales again.

The train skids to a halt and throws him out of his trance and into Oikawa’s arms.

“Iwa-chan,” he says, delighted. He thinks of punching him in the face. Not seeing Oikawa in months has turned him sappy. Maybe he should punch himself in the face. “If you wanted a hug, you should’ve just asked. And, hey, did you get _shorter_?”

“Go die,” Iwaizumi says.

Oikawa flicks his forehead. “You’d miss me too much.”

“Don’t be too confident,” Iwaizumi says, but it sounds more like, _yeah, unfortunately, I would._

 

/

 

Oikawa drags him past the entrance to _Yagiyama Benyland,_ one of Sendai’s amusement parks, and they wind up atop a set of stairs. Branches bursting with cherryblossoms seem to bend in a bow of greeting, and the petals flutter in the breeze.

“Remember when we last visited this place?” he says, sighing dreamily.

Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow. “We were, like, six.”

“Seven, actually,” Oikawa corrects. “And you let me hold your hand!”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes heavenward. “So you wouldn’t get lost,” he says, feeling heat creeping up his neck. “We were kids, gimme a break.”

“It was cute!” he insists. “And it’s my turn now!”

“The hell are you—”

Oikawa holds out his hand.  In the other, he holds the cheery park pamphlet with a colourful map of the rides and, possibly, Iwaizumi’s heart. He wonders what he did in his past lives to deserve this.

Oikawa smiles, soft and still smelling faintly of flowers. Iwaizumi takes his hand.

 

/

 

Nose buried in the map, Oikawa nearly bumps into every single person they pass by. Iwaizumi has to drag him around by the hood of his sweatshirt. The sun is high and beating down their backs by the time they make it to their destination.

It’s a tunnel below a lemon-yellow castle, the spires mint green— _Aoba Jousai green,_  as Oikawa insists—and surrounded by trees. “According to a travel blog I read, the more thrilling area of the park is on the other side of that tunnel,” he says.

Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow. “If you say so.”

“So skeptical,” he tuts, waving a finger around. “We’re supposed to be making the most of our time here!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Iwaizumi says, but he’s grinning, smile crooked and fond. “Let’s get going, then.”

“Wait!” Oikawa fumbles around, pulling out his phone from the pocket of his jeans. “We need to take a picture, first. Get over here, you big baby!” Iwaizumi sighs. Oikawa grabs him by the shoulder and pulls him close. Iwaizumi sees them both in the screen, side-by-side. Oikawa has his arm slung over his shoulder, tongue sticking out. “Smile, Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi closes his eyes and sighs, but when he opens them again, he’s smiling for the camera.

_Click._

 

/

 

“I’m hungry,” Oikawa whines, collapsing onto the nearest bench after they’ve ridden countless rollercoasters and played enough rigged amusement park games to go broke.

“Probably ’cause you wouldn’t stop screaming, idiot,” Iwaizumi says, taking a seat next to him. He knocks their knees together and smiles at him. Oikawa’s lips twitch. “I gotcha covered, though.” Settling his backpack onto his lap, he fishes out a bag of milk bread and tosses it at him. “That’s just for snacking, alright! I swear to God you’re teeth are gonna rot one of these days and all your fangirls are gonna leave you.”

Oikawa pouts. “I don’t need fangirls when I have you,” he says, brandishing a piece of milkbreak in his direction. “Here, say _aaah!_ ”

“I don’t want your shitty calories—mmph!” Iwaizumi pulls face, nose scrunching up at the taste. Too sweet, to sweet. Disgusting. He has to choke it down, glaring at his so-called best friend all the while. Oikawa just smiles innocently, the sunlight haloing his evil head. “Die.”

“No thanks!” Oikawa chirps, twisting the plastic shut and stuffing it into his backpack. “We still have to ride the teacups, then we can go grab a bite, and then—ferris wheel time!”

Iwaizumi has to fight a smile. His heart feels so, so full. “Well,” he gets up, holding out a hand for Oikawa to take. “Lead the way.”

 

/

 

Memories come to Iwaizumi in flashes. Oikawa, six years old, giggling when a marigold butterfly perches on his nose. Oikawa, seven years old, holding his hand at this very same park with wobbly lips and teary eyes, scared of getting lost. Oikawa, now, looking for all the world like he’s just gotten found.

The teacup they’re in is bright blue and dotted in cream, and they’re spinning around like the breeze. Oikawa is laughing, delighted, eyes shut. His hair’s all messy and is getting tossed around, but for once he’s not complaining. His cheeks are dimpling. Everything about him looks soft, in this light, like he’s blurred around the edges and not quite here.

Iwaizumi feels like he’s spinning out of reach, but—

Oikawa grabs his hand. “Iwa-chan!” he calls, and Iwaizumi would have to be a fool to ever think that his best friend would pull away from him. “Isn’t this fun? I feel like a kid again.”

“Yeah,” he says, hair whipping this way and that, “me too.”

 

/

 

“I don’t get why you like vanilla so much,” Oikawa says, licking at his strawberry and chocolate-mint ice cream cone. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and steals one of his wafer sticks. “Hey, Iwa-chan, don’t just take my food like that!”

Iwaizumi shrugs, taking a bite of the biscuit. “Do you know which way the ferries wheel is?”

“Let me just check the map,” Oikawa says, and they stop beneath the shade of a tree to search. Iwaizumi bites down on this ice cream, leaning back against the trunk thoughtfully. The park isn’t very crowded, everything is bursting with colour, and it almost seems peaceful. “Iwa-chan!” Oikawa yells. “Um, we may have a problem.”

Iwaizumi sighs. “What is it,” he says.

“I think I might have lost the map.”

“ _What._ ”

“It’s okay!” Oikawa says hurriedly. “We can let wanderlust lead the way—”

“Or,” Iwaizumi says, “we could ask someone for directions.”

Oikawa waves him off. “Whatever will be, will be.”

 

/

 

After spending a good half hour wandering aimlessly and asking people for directions, they finally make it to the ferris wheel.

The line is long enough that Oikawa has time to sneak off and return with cotton candy in hand like he’s holding a blue cloud that’s nearly as large as his head. The whole carnival is filled with the sugar-spun scent. Iwaizumi scolds him about cavities and rants about volleyball players and their diets, but he tears off a piece for himself and lets it melt into sugary threads in his mouth. Oikawa looks pleased. Iwaizumi hits him and steals another piece.

“Hey, Oikawa,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets.

His cheery smile grows more subdued. “Yeah?”

“We should do this again sometime.”

Oikawa bumps his shoulder gently. His hair tickles his neck. “Silly Iwa-chan,” he murmurs. “This can be our thing! Like, going to amusement parks whenever we visit each other. When you come over to my places, let’s go to Tokyo Disneyland, okay?”

He grins. “Sound like a plan.”

Oikawa laughs. “But first, let’s ride the ferris wheel. No talk about the future. It’s depressing.”

Iwaizumi snorts. “It’s not. We’re here, aren’t we?”

Oikawa’s eyes go gentle. “Yeah,” he says. “We are.”

 

/

 

“Stop rocking the damn booth, Oikawa, we’re gonna die— _fuck!_ ” Everything sways ever so slightly, and Iwaizumi almost feels like they’re tipping over and ready to free fall through the sky. Oikawa, the asshole, just giggles.

Iwaizumi reaches over to punch him. The carriage rocks again. Oikawa squeals.

He sighs. “I regret everything. I never want to go anywhere with you ever again.”

“Aw, Iwa-chan, you don’t mean that!” Oikawa smiles, all sunshine and cotton candy clouds, because _of course_ he already knows. “Here, hold my hand if you’re scared.”

Iwaizumi glares at his outstretched palm, then at his face. Oikawa’s eyes are shining as bright as the sky outside. There’s something about him that looks like falling and laughing all the way down. Iwaizumi sighs and nudges his hand away, trying not to think about how the callouses of his fingers and the softness of his palms would feel. “I’m not scared, fuck off,” he says, but there’s no real heat to his voice. If anything, he sounds on the border of laughter. Like a tightrope walker. “If you wanna hold my hand so badly—”

Oikawa blushes strawberry and bristles. “I’m not a child, Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi snorts. “You’re a big baby, Oikawa.” He sticks his tongue out at him and blows a raspberry. Iwaizumi just smirks. “See? Big baby.”

“I’m _not._  Ooh, Iwa-chan, look down!”

“Shittykawa.”

“No, really!” Oikawa’s voice drips with sincerity. “Look!”

And so he does. Because—and he’d never say this aloud—Oikawa could tell him to jump, and he would, because Oikawa always catches him in the end.

Peering out the window, Iwaizumi sees the people milling about below, rosy-cheeked and starry-eyed. Clouds of cotton candy and dripping ice cream. The cherry blossoms have just begun to bloom, and he can almost smell them. The branches sway in a light breeze and the petals scatter, light as blush. There’s something so carefree about this moment, in a way that Iwaizumi hasn’t felt in a long, long time.

“Look, that guy over there has pink hair! Hey, Iwa-chan, I could totally pull off pink hair.”

Iwaizumi snorts. “Yeah, no.”

“And that little boy looks like Takeru. Oh, and that guy looks Mattsun! Also, is that another ice cream stand? We should totally go there later—”

Iwaizumi watches him talk and listens, listens, listens. Smiling fondly, he watches the sunlight get tangled in Oikawa’s hair and nestle itself there, dusting his cheeks in a spray of stardust. Even his eyes glow with it. He tugs at the sleeves of his hoodie—Iwaizumi’s, really, but honestly, what’s his is Oikawa’s, always had been, down to his heart—while he chatters, and oh no, that’s annoyingly endearing—

“We’re nearly at the top. Beautiful, isn’t it?” Oikawa says, casting him a brief glance. In that one moment, he looks crowned in sunlight.

Iwaizumi grins, still look at him. “Yeah,” he says. “Breathtaking.”

 

/

 

“We’re at the top!”

The ferris wheel pauses, right then. Oikawa has his hands thrown in the air, then he reaches over to take Iwaizumi’s in his. He smiles, not a care in the world. For a moment, he let’s himself go, and he squeezes Oikawa’s palm.

“Obviously, dumbass,” he says. _Always, with you._

Oikawa’s eyes shine, and his smile widens. “Obviously,” he repeats. _With you, always._

 

/

 

And so, like all good things, Oikawa’s little trip comes to an end.

He does not fret, however, and says goodbye to Iwaizumi at the train station. He waves from the window until Iwaizumi is out of sight. His heart aches a little afterwards, maybe, but still, he doesn’t lay it any mind. There will be more day trips, more sleepovers, and more stories to create

And so when he opens his bag to find Iwaizumi’s sweatshirt—the very same one he wore—folded neatly, a message tucked into his pocket, he smiles and wears it. To no one’s surprise, it feels like coming home.

_You never got a chance to wash it, idiot._

_Call me when you get back._

 


End file.
